My Immortal
by CelticDaemonWitch
Summary: It has been a long while since the Dark Socceress and the Spider Witch were defeated. But not all is well. The mages have drifted away from each other and their bonds to Aldenmor. What can bring these grown women together again?


((A/n: I have a thing for romance and tradgedy, don't I? I can't promise I'll be getting Darkness Before the Dawn or Love is a Full-blown War done anytime soon, but I can certainly try. Anyway, this is the latest story my muses have assisted me in coming up with. It's basically this:  
  
It has been seven or eight years after the defeat of the Dark Sorceress and the Fairimentals forced Adriane and Zach into an arranged marriage. Both being independent, they didn't get along, and had much difficulty getting used to each others' lives. But when Zach is suddenly kidnapped, will Adriane face up to the fact that she has come to depend on him? But when she turns to her fellow mages for help, will they come? Or have they all changed too much?  
  
Pairings: Adriane/Zach, wished for Adriane/Joey, Kara/Marcus that will turn into Kara/Lorren hopefully. And fyi -- Dreamer, Ozzie, Lyra, and some of the Unicorn Academy have children of their own who might appear in the story, so be warned ^__^  
  
Spoilers: All the way up to All's Fairy in Love and War.  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm just burrowing them for a bit ^^ No harm will come to them during the making of this fanfic. *crosses fingers*  
  
Sidenotes: They're making Avalon into a movie! Squee! ^___^ Fall 2004))  
  
My Immortal  
  
Chapter One: Beaten paths  
  
To say it was a beautiful day would be the understatement of the century. The sun was a pale yellow streak against a sky so blue it was hard to look at for too long. Colorful flowers that lined the pathways beamed up at those walking by, bobbing their heads happily in the lazy, playful spring breeze. The air was faintly scented with the aroma of lilacs, and was pleasantly warm and buzzing with joy.   
  
Children chased each other over the paths, laughing and shrieking in all sorts of languages. They had a reason to be happy, this next generation did. They had been born in a time when Aldenmor was in an era of complete peace, where one could taste the magic of Avalon in the very air that surrounded them, pulsing strongly through the world, fed by the happiness of the people like mountain glaciers would give up their bulk for the rivers. Unicorns raced over the web, hooves pounding with musical precision and manes aglow with brilliant colors, their eyes as bright as the sun in the clear sky above.  
  
But there was one person who was a dark age all her own, who walked around in a gloom that sucked all the happiness out of the air around her. The children of the magical creatures she had helped one scattered when she came near, their parents whispered sad things behind their hands as they watched her go past. But she did not look at any of them. She was too fixed in her own sadness.  
  
Adriane frowned as she entered the marketplace, trying to remember what all she needed. She should have written it down! It was always weird stuff, like pickled baby onions or roasted cockroach thighs. Stuff that only a marketplace in the Fairy Ring would have, and so she had to trek all the way down here on a perfectly good day she could have spent indoors. Not that she counted the Okawa treehouse as indoors, of course. And there was no way she ever would think of the conscious tree as her home. No matter how nice Aldenmor was, she didn't belong there.  
  
She didn't belong with Zach.  
  
The twenty-two year old warrior mage heaved a sigh, tucking a lock of her rich black hair behind one ear absently as she started down the aisles, glancing briefly at the creatively designed booths and whatever they sold, not seeing how a shadow creeped over the the happily smiling faces of the shopkeepers when they saw her ghost past.  
  
"Warrior mage," a voice squeaked shyly, and a disapointed sigh escaped Adriane's caramel lips at the form of address. She had a name, after all. Why did everyone insist on calling her by her title? She wasn't all tough, weathered warrior. "Warrior mage?"  
  
"Yes?" Adriane resigned, not caring how impatient her voice sounded, even to her own dulled ears. She turned around, only to have something tug on the hem of her elaborate skirt, crafted out of organic materials by the best of the fairy weavers. Looking down, she saw that her assaulter was a very small and lithe Elf child, in boots that were a little too big for him. His green eyes were wide with a fear that made Adriane's stomach flatten. Was he expecting her to bite his head off? Was that what the world expected of her? To be vicious and mean all the time?  
  
The young Elf stammered a little, twirling a lock of his downy, whiteblonde hair around his nimble finger. "I ... uh... we... were... uh... hopingyouwoulddemonstratealittleofyourmagicforus," he said, so quickly that his voice ended in a squeak. He glanced behind him, and an assorted bunch of children (Adriane counted two goblins, a dwarf, a pixie, three fairies, and two other Elves) who all nodded eagerly.  
  
The warrior mage almost smiled. Almost. What might have been a smile sort of dropped off her face before it could ever really form, like it had forgotten how. She hated using her powers; they reminded her of how unbearably different she was. All she had wanted was a normal happy life, maybe inheriting Ravenswood when her great-grandmother died. Having a quiet, humble marriage in the sanctuary of the glade to the man of her dreams, Joey. Helping Emily keep Ozzie from bankrupting them all on ferret shamppo and pizza. Going on to college, getting a degree and moving on to graduate school. She had no idea what she wanted to be, other than she wanted it to be close to home and flexible, for magical purposes.  
  
But all those dreams got shattered a long time ago, when she got married to Zach.  
  
Well, married would be a bit of an optimistic term for it, in Adriane's opinion. They had called it a marriage, but it was more like a cage of bondage to Aldenmor. The Fairimentals needed one of the mages to stay behind, as a warning to anyone unwanted who might try to draw power from Avalon. Adriane was fifteen when they closed the trap around her, completely against her will, and she has not yet gone back to Earth. Not in the seven years she had been waiting for something to happen, or for the Fairimentals to finally relax and let her go back to where she belonged.  
  
She missed her home so much, she had only become a shell of who she was. Nothing, no one could make her happy again. Not for lack of trying. Dreamer had been with her almost constantly after the ceremony, pure sympathy and love, which she rejected over and over again. Zach had remained awake all those nights she had to cry herself to sleep, stroking her hair so much she was sure it was a shade lighter there from where his hand had tracked a path over it. All those she had helped rescue over the years of war had tried to make her feel as much at home as possible, but nothing had warmed Adriane up. She had become every possible definition of gloom.  
  
But Adriane never noticed. All she wanted was to be able to go home, to live in her own world. She could never be happy, not here.  
  
Robotically and pratically without thought, Adriane snapped into fighting stance, whipping her wrist and the weathered wolf stone up and around, sending a brilliant ray of amber light into the friendly air. It arced high, sending bright sparkles of harmless magic down upon the childrens' awed faces, before it swooped back to curl around its conjurer, bathing her in golden light that banished the shadows from every tired line in her face. Then, purpose spent, it faded away, and Adriane relaxed back into her usual protective slouch.  
  
She said nothing more, and did not even smile at the excited noises that erupted from the children as they clammered over what they had seen, or the relaxed looks on the adult's faces, who were once again reminded that a powerful mage, however sad a person, was watching over them.  
  
No, Adriane saw none of that. Hiding her tears for a life she could never have, the warrior mage ghosted away, her face a twisted mask of anguish.  
  
*&*  
  
His white paws barely brushed the earth as he ran. His shoulders and haunches moved with fluid-like grace as he rightfully glided over the endless plains. The wind sung in his sensitive ears, whispering to him of freedom and the joy of flight. He could feel it, pulsing through his veins like the sensation itself was his lifeblood, and not some dinky red fluid. Though, he was glad he had been born after the era in which that red fluid had been poured over his lands in the war for the magic of Avalon, staining its timeless glory. To look over the emerald hills of the mistwolf territory today, you would never know it had once been a battleground, not so long ago.  
  
The mistwolf took a moment to look around him, at the other running figures of his pack. They made no noise as they ran, so sometimes he forgot they were there. But nothing could make him forget how complete he felt, with his pack, his family, his life and his future. Nothing came close to the sheer joy it was like, to be one with your own kind. To feel wanted and loved by everyone.  
  
Something ruffled his midnight black coat, and he glanced down at the young pup struggling to keep up with him, silver eyes bright and so eager to please. His shining coat was a dusty brown color, rouged up in spots where the unbalanced pup had tripped. For ever stride his bigger companion took, the young mistwolf had to make two.  
  
~Pyramid,~ the older wolf scolded, a fond look coming to his compassionate amber eyes. ~You're trying too hard. You're going to hurt yourself.~  
  
~No, I'm not!~ the entergetic pup answered excitedly. ~I'm big and strong now, like Nightembers!~  
  
The dark-colored mistwolf slowed his pace subtly, his black lips curcling into a wolfish grin at the relief that crossed over Pyramid's small face when he did so. ~So you are. I'm proud of you.~  
  
Nightembers watched as the pup's mother, a survivor of the war with the Dark Socceress and the Spider Witch, called to him, reprimanding him with much the same lines the adolscent mistwolf had used. Pyramid rolled his eyes, childishly annoyed, but moved off to run alongside his mother.  
  
She had been lucky, Nightembers thought, tearing his eyes away from the older mistwolf's mangled ears. Many of her other packmates had not been so favored. There were many who had not escaped with their lives. But Nightembers, as well as Pyramid and all the other pups born after the war had been ended in favor of good magic, had been told many times they had been proud to have given up their lives for the cause of Avalon. That they had wished to go out no other way.  
  
Nightembers looked around for his father, and found him, running along right behind their packleader, his ebony coat shining with health under the rays of the springtime sun. The adolscent felt his heart swell with pride as he took in the older wolf's good health, and the strong spirit that shone with every movement his muscular body made.   
  
He felt a sudden presence at his side, and jumped in surprise, then quickly lowered his head respectfully to their beloved pack mother, Silver Eyes. The laugh lines around the she-wolf's correctly named storm gray eyes crinkled warmly at his reaction. Her steps were still confident, the pads on her feet so familiar with the earth she could feel it in her soul. Her bones creaked wearily with every movement, and Silver Eyes knew her time running with the pack on Aldenmor was coming to a close. But she felt certain that she would run even more determinedly with the spirit pack, for her soul still burned with the fire of a mistwolf and a warrior.  
  
~Nightembers, your father is a strong one,~ she praised the adolscent mistwolf, and he smiled shyly, and with a bit of pride. ~It had been a good thing he runs with our pack.~  
  
Then a shadow crossed over her face, and Nightembers felt worry for the pack mother stab at his heart. ~But I fear for his bonded. She is not so happy. I truly do believe she was meant for Aldenmor soil, but she was taken the wrong way...~  
  
The young black mistwolf remembered mentions of his father having a bonded. ~Do you think she will ever come around, pack mother?~  
  
Silver Eyes sighed, glancing over the rolling jade plains the mistwolves called their own. ~I hope she will. Dreamer is a strong spirit, but I am not sure how long he can stand not being able to do anything about Adriane's anguish...~  
  
Then, a mistwolf scout materialized on the edge of the pack, and with panic in her strides, caught up to the headstrong figure of Dreamer, bending her white head to speak urgently with him. Nightembers and Silver Eyes watched as the warrior wolf's shoulders tensed, and his ears flatten with worry. He veered away from the pack, and sped up, racing with all his mistwolf strength into the distance. Their packleader turned his dark head to follow the warrior wolf's progress, but did nothing to stop him. He trusted Dreamer's judgement.  
  
~Follow him,~ Silver Eyes whispered to Nightembers, and the adolscent mistwolf saw an adventerous spark in the wise wolf's eyes. He grinned. ~I will cover for you.~  
  
Nightembers felt the excitement of doing something sneaky stir in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to follow his father, to find out what made Dreamer so famous. Maybe he'd get a chance to see his mythical bond, the warrior mage who helped save Earth, Aldenmor, and Avalon.  
  
~Something is wrong,~ Silver Eyes said. ~I can feel it. Now is your chance to prove yourself, Nightembers. I fear this will be more of a strain than just Dreamer can handle...~  
  
*&*   
  
((A/N: Somebody's POV... Don't ask me who, because I don't know yet x_x))  
  
I am scared this time. With the others, I have never felt so much guilt over what I was about to do. Others, they woke up sooner, and they fought. They screamed and kicked and demanded to know what was going on. My patience grew thin with them quickly, and I didn't feel so bad anymore when they got hauled off. I would only have to see them once in my life, after all. But this one... he was still lying there, where they had thrown him. He was baggage. They had no reason to treat him carefully. His eyes were open, and I think he knew where he was and where he was going. But he was quiet.  
  
I sit there in my corner of this tight and cramped wagon. It rumbles and rocks and sways beneath me. Occasionally, it jars me, but my tailbone is tough, and I hardly feel it anymore. I am not looking at him. I see only the caps of my knees in front of my face. I am remembering. Before I was captured and endured much the same treatment he got, when I was... well, when I was free. Sometimes I think I remember it so much that soon the scenes will become so exhausted that I will forget how to remember. And then I will be left with nothing. Nothing but the decieving lie I am now.  
  
I unfold from the tight protective ball I was in, and he glances over at me. His face shows no surprise to see me, not like what I expected from a human. I had always been told they were selfish, emotionless beasts who didn't know a licking about magic and thought anything that didn't look like them were freaks. But this human almost smiled when he saw me, like he was glad that I was living. Like he actually cared about my health.  
  
"You're so pale," he commented, his voice deeper and richer than the treacherous, organic volcano that had been my home for a long time now. But it was quiet, too, like he was trying not to startle me, or alert anyone else to his wakened state. I don't blame him. They tend to be very brutal when I don't do a good enough job shutting them up. Not that he could know this, of course. They are my memories. Maybe they will be his, but he will not have them for long. "Why are you so pale?"  
  
It was an interesting question to start out with, to say in the least. No one had ever tried to really hold a conversation with me. Only a couple have asked my name. But that is to be expected, I suppose. You can't really expect the condemned to offer you milk and cookies, could you? But this man, he was sitting up now, his expression warm and friendly. I watched him, hesitant to answer. He had such an open face. I saw no fear, no anger, no frustration in that face. He was young, too. Not a child or even young man, but too young to die nonetheless.  
  
I looked away from his kindly emerald eyes. They would bewitch me, I feared. And it would make it even worse when I had to betray him, and give him over to those who would kill him. Or worse. But even though I was looking away, I could see him, perfectly etched in front of my eyes. I knew, with a stab of sorrow that it wouldn't be easy being emotionless when they hauled him off. Whoever he was.  
  
"I am hungry for sunlight," I answer, acutely aware of how hoarse and rough my voice sounded as compared to his. How long it had been since I bathed, or had a good meal. I must be very difficult on the eyes. I am hungry for everything this days. But most of all, my freedom. Never had it seemed so far away as it was right now, as I sat there in that cramped wagon, with this man's trusting eyes on me. You would be amazed at how quickly you can get used to doing the things you want to do, and then you become like me and those things seem like the greatest blessings in the world.  
  
"Oh," the man says, and nods, like this makes sense to him. I cannot see how. His hair is flaxen blonde and just sorts of carelessly floats around his face with every tiny whisp of breeze that enters the wagon, and I am very self-conscious of my greasy, stringy black locks that haven't been tamed in months. His skin is darker than a tanned fox hide. I cannot see how for even the briefest moment this man was starved for sunlight. Not like I was. Am.  
  
He is watching me again, but not threatening. Not demanding to know where he was, and why he was there. It is like he is curious. About me, not what was going to happen to him. I wondered if he already knew, or had at least guessed, or maybe thought it was safer if he didn't know. I am beginning to think this is a very smart man. Which made me even more sadder to know he was condemned to die. "Are you an Elf? I mean, I want to say pixie, but I don't see any wings..."  
  
I shake my head. "I did not have to have my wings cut off." I had to cut other wings off. And not just those of the pixies. "I am a gnome."  
  
His forehead crinkled with confusion and worry. Worry for me? When has anyone been concerned about me? "But gnomes aren't travelers, are they?" he inquired, glancing around the interior of the wagon. "In fact, I'm not even sure where gnomes live."  
  
I begin to cry. I can't help it. It has been so long since I ever thought about who I was and where I came from, about who I was before they locked me up in here and fed me the lies I would tell the prisoners. I had been wishing for my freedom and missing my home, but I had forgotten to remember where it was, or how to get there. And now this man -- who already has shown me such kindness -- goes and reminds me so strongly about what I am; a prisoner! No, a slave! They tell me I have power, but I cannot leave. I can hardly bathe without suspicion. For so long, I had been trying to ignore me. Trying to ignore everything wrong that went on around. To protect myself. For my own safety, I had followed their orders, fed lies to the others who lay across from me like he is now.  
  
He looks a little uncertain, like he would try and comfort me if he knew it wouldn't insult my culture. I would smile at his thoughtfulness, if I wasn't crying. Finally, I manage to unceremoniously choke out, "What's your name?"  
  
He smiled a little bit, but his smile was sad, like he didn't like to be who he was. Part of me wanted to get mad at him for it. How couldn't he love being himself? He was such a nice man. Of course, that did not mean anything. He could be a perfect lovely man, and have a horrible past that was stuck unfairly to his name. "My name is Zach."  
  
I felt my eyes widen. No! Impossible!  
  
I would not aid in the murder of the last human boy on Aldenmor!  
  
((*eyes what she just wrote* Okay, that was completely random... And there is a lot more of that randomness to come. So if you didn't like that, or it didn't make sense, you're probably not going to like the rest of the story. I'll probably give you fyis as I found out what it is I'm doing. Ehheh...  
  
Anyway, as usual, please R/R! There's no pressure though XD If you have a phobia of pushing that review button, do not feel threatened.  
  
Oh, and btw, does anyone know if the Dark Socceress had a name besides the Dark Socceress? I think they might have mentioned it, but I gave my entire Avalon series to a out-of-country friend who had not yet had the fortune of reading them. Anyway, if she has a name, I'd love to be reminded of it, and if not, no big deal. My fingers can get used to typing Dark Socceress for everything XD  
  
Have fun! And Merry Christmas!)) 


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